


by a thousand little things

by fwop



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fever, Fluff, Hanzo Shimada Character Study, Hanzo Shimada-centric, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Jesse McCree & Genji Shimada Are Best Friends, Light Angst, M/M, Men Crying, Mentioned Angela "Mercy" Ziegler, Mentioned Tekhartha Zenyatta, Sick Character, Sickfic, Sojiro Shimada's Bad Parenting, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:00:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26208304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fwop/pseuds/fwop
Summary: "Y'okay?" he asks, and Hanzo closes his eyes again, enjoying his voice in what hazy awareness being ill affords to him."Sick," he admits, clearing his throat and wincing.Jesse sits on the edge of the bed, his large, calloused hand slipping onto Hanzo's forehead. He turns his palm and brushes his knuckles against Hanzo's cheeks, humming softly. It feels nice. Hanzo relishes the contact.
Relationships: Genji Shimada & Hanzo Shimada, Genji Shimada & Tekhartha Zenyatta, Jesse McCree & Genji Shimada, Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada
Comments: 18
Kudos: 279





	by a thousand little things

**Author's Note:**

> I really do be out here writing whatever my little fool heart asks for loool. I just wanted an excuse to spoil Hanzo a little bit, get into his head, get him to cry, let him be taken care of. I literally love him so much. It's terrible!!
> 
> title is from 'little things' by allie x. the full quote is "death by a thousand little things".

Hanzo doesn't get _sick._

Well... ok. He hasn't gotten sick in a very, _very_ long time. For the most part, he strives to keep it that way. He gets his eight hours when he can (even if that means cat-napping in increasingly odd places), eats conscious of his health, and gets regular physical activity (he would get the physical activity even without trying with as much training and moving is done on missions). Angela has a blood panel drawn for him regularly, as she does with all the other agents. Nothing is ever out of place. 

Last time he'd gotten sick was when he was on the run, sometime in the decade after leaving the _Shimada-gumi_ (a testament to what living like that does to one’s health). It had been a miserable experience-- he had sequestered himself in a hovel of a safe house with no medicine, no food, and only bottles of water for company. Feverish and weak, he had waited for the heat to break before he thought himself strong enough to venture out for some sort of nourishment. At the time, it had felt right to suffer through it like that. 

There's been nigh an incidence since then… 

Until now. 

He woke up with a headache. That should've been his first warning, considering he hadn’t even had a drop to drink the night before. Instead, he'd chalked it up to lack of sleep and went on with his routine. 

By lunchtime, his throat is aching and, despite checking the thermostat in his room, he can't stop getting the chills. 

Fatigue hounds his movements as he tries to reassemble his bow in the safety of his room (no loud, booming voices to bang at his head like a hammer-- his lights dim enough to avoid the extra pain fluorescence would afford him), and he gives up when he can’t even muster the strength to string it properly. He grits his teeth and seethes, shivering as he drops to his floor. 

Thinking about going out into the communal kitchen makes him balk. For one thing, it means he has to move more than a few steps, which, for some reason, seems unfathomable to him. For another, it means he'll have to put effort into making food (possibly for other people once they realize he, one of the more competent cooks of the Watchpoint, is making a meal-- a role he is _usually_ happy to play, if only because he likes preening under the compliments of a meal well-received). (It is still alarming to him how things can change, how they _do_ sometimes change without him even noticing.)

His aching throat would be soothed by a hot cup of tea… but maybe if he sleeps a little more, he might feel better when he wakes. 

Distantly, as he pulls himself up on the bed to take his cybernetic boots off, he wonders when Jesse will be home today. He's been on a mission for the past couple of days (one of the reasons Hanzo had such trouble sleeping, to his chagrin-- he’s been spoiled to having a warm body beside him) and is expected back today. Usually, Hanzo meets him on the launch pad. He might still be able to if he just sleeps for thirty minutes, maybe an hour. 

Tucking himself in, he lets his eyes slide shut, the meager warmth of the blankets enough to soothe him into sleep. 

━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━  
  


Being awake is a mistake, Hanzo thinks the moment he opens his eyes. His throat is on fire and his body feels like he's trained too much, muscles aching all over. Congestion blocks up his nostrils, his mouth full of cotton as he breathes heavily through it. 

Groaning as he shifts, shivers take him over, flesh breaking out into tiny bumps as the air of the room slips underneath the covers. 

He's _freezing._

Blearily, he checks the time, sighing when he realizes he slept much longer than he wanted to. No wonder it's so much darker than it was before. Someone will be coming to fetch him for dinner soon. 

The thought of food makes his stomach roil. 

He wants to clear his nose but getting up sounds like too much work. As soon as he thinks it, he laughs something sharp and cynical. The mighty Hanzo Shimada, taken down by an illness. 

His eyes slip to a close again, unable to really help how fatigued he feels. He wraps the covers more snugly around himself. It feels good to bury the cold tip of his nose underneath the blankets, to shut his eyes against what light from the setting sun is filtering into the dim room. 

Jolting awake, he blinks again into the darkness. Another glance at the clock makes him realize that he'd fallen asleep again. Not for very long, but enough for the sun to have slipped beneath the horizon. 

Someone raps at his door. Hm. So that's what woke him. 

"Hanzo?" 

That's Jesse, he realizes, his body relaxing all over. Hanzo doesn't want to admit it, but he's glad Jesse is home. Some part of him is longing for comfort-- a strange compulsion for him to admit to. Jesse is _good_ at being comforting. Plus, he _missed_ him. He always misses Jesse when he’s away. 

"Come in," he says, though it scrapes out of him, his voice cracking. With his throat hurting the way it is, he can't fathom speaking any louder. 

"Hanzo?" Jesse didn't hear him. "I'm gonna come in."

The light that suddenly fills his room from the hallway is too much and Hanzo moans his discomfort, shoving the cover over himself to block out the fluorescent lights. 

The door shuts and the lights in the room shift from off to dim. Hanzo can hear Jesse's clothes as he shifts, hears his boots clipping sharp against the ground. 

A pull at the blanket and Jesse is revealed to him, looking down at Hanzo in warm concern. 

"Y'okay?" he asks, and Hanzo closes his eyes again, enjoying his voice in what hazy awareness being ill affords to him. 

"Sick," he admits, clearing his throat and wincing. 

Jesse sits on the edge of the bed, his large, calloused hand slipping onto Hanzo's forehead. He turns his palm and brushes his knuckles against Hanzo's cheeks, humming softly. It feels nice. Hanzo relishes the contact. 

"Honey, you gotta fever," he murmurs, and Hanzo wonders if he's already red or if Jesse will be able to see him blush. "You cold?"

Hanzo nods, thankful when Jesse tucks the covers tighter to his body and lays his _serape_ over him for good measure. 

"That better?" 

"Yes," he answers, the word scratching out of his throat. 

"Did you eat?" Jesse asks, hand coming to rest near Hanzo's hip so that he’s leaning over him slightly. 

A shake of his head and Jesse hums again. 

"Think ya can tolerate some soup?" 

Jesse laughs at his resulting groan. 

"Y'gotta eat, darlin'," he says, sounding so fond it makes Hanzo's heart stutter. "I'll see if Genji knows any recipes." 

Hanzo doesn't have it in him to argue. 

"You must be real sick if you're not even gonna act like you're mad," Jesse teases. He draws a hand up to run his fingers through Hanzo's hair, sifting through it a few times in admiration. "Alright."

The weight on the bed shifts up and then away, the rustling of clothes the only sound in the room apart from Hanzo's heavy mouth breathing. 

Part of Hanzo is mortified. When he was sick as a child, he was expected to carry on until he could not. Medicine was forced on him but coddling was out of the question. Many times, Hanzo would have to train when feverish-- even sick, the _Shimada-gumi_ would still go on and Hanzo had to expect to keep up appearances in such times. 

Having Jesse dote on him the moment he realized he's sick makes him feel… conflicted. He's embarrassed. He's _grateful._ To his horror, he feels the strangest urge to cry. 

"You _just_ got back," Hanzo hears from Jesse's comm. Genji. 

"Sure did," Jesse replies, a smile in his voice. "You been all comfy here at the Watchpoint. Think you could do me a favor?"

"If this is about Hanzo, I would think twice about doing anything stupid," Genji replies. It makes Hanzo want to laugh. 

"Well, it _is_ about your brother, but it ain't nothing stupid. Hanzo's not feelin' too good. Was wonderin' if you had any recipes he might could stomach right now."

"Hanzo is sick?" Genji asks. He sounds incredulous. 

"Seems like. Feels like a fever."

"I see." Genji goes silent for a moment. "Yes, I believe I have something he will tolerate well. I can prepare it now?"

"That'd be great. You need help?"

"Zenyatta wishes to learn the recipe for soothing ills," Genji says. He's happy. Hanzo can tell. "He will assist me."

"Thanks to the both o'ya."

"See you in a while."

The comm clicks against the wood of Hanzo's desk, and Jesse sits back down on the edge of the bed. 

Hanzo blinks up at him, at the amber of his eyes, the way his soft hair frames his face. 

“I missed you,” he admits quietly, just to see that curving grin transform the frown on Jesse’s lips. If there’s some truth to it, well, nobody else has to know. 

“Felt wrong to sleep without you,” Jesse answers in kind. Aha. Vindication. So he wasn’t the only one. 

Hanzo hums in response, then tenses up when Jesse leans over him. He shoves his hand against Jesse’s face, which makes him laugh in little huffs of warm breath against Hanzo’s palm. 

“You will get sick,” Hanzo reprimands, but is too weak to stop Jesse from taking his wrist in hand, kissing his palm sweetly before threading their fingers together.

“Then _you_ can take care of _me,_ huh?” Jesse asks, leaning down anyway. He presses their mouths together, warm and sweet, a long moment that still sends butterflies careening through Hanzo’s gut. It’s pathetic. He feels like he will _never_ get used to the way Jesse treats him. 

Another kiss to the corner of his mouth is followed by a press of lips to his cheek, then his jaw. 

“Don’t much like seeing you hurtin’,” Jesse murmurs against Hanzo’s ear, running the tip of his nose along his cheekbone and into the softness of his hair. He inhales slowly. 

Hanzo shudders pitifully, and Jesse pulls back in surprise. 

“Don’t look at me,” Hanzo orders, shoving his free hand back into Jesse’s face, trying to cover his eyes, so he won’t see how being loved turns Hanzo into a shameful creature. So he won’t see Hanzo embarrass himself by crying over something so simple as someone _caring_ about him. 

Jesse laughs again. 

“Quit that,” he says, pulling Hanzo’s hand to rest back down on the covers. 

Hanzo does quit, closing his _own_ eyes, so he doesn’t have to discern the expression Jesse might wear when he sees the tears streaking down the sides of his face. Ridiculous. He is _above_ such childish behavior. 

“Hey,” Jesse says and _how_ that gentleness rends Hanzo through, “it’s okay. It’s okay, Han.” 

Covering his eyes with his free hand is the only thing he can do when Jesse’s voice goes low and worried like that. He sucks in a wet breath through his mouth, shaking there under the covers. 

“Foolish,” he croaks, angry at himself for being so weak. 

“Ain’t _nothin’_ foolish about a man crying, y’hear me?” Jesse says, pulling his hand back away from his face and kissing that one too, for good measure. “You’re just being human, Han.”

If Hanzo were to believe that, he would be turning away from almost thirty years of people beating into him the very opposite. He only remembers crying _three_ times before this moment (his mother in sadness, his father in relief, and his brother in true grief) and always in the disgrace of his own solitude. Logically, he knows what the _Shimada-gumi_ forced on him was meant to turn him into an emotionless tool, a weapon shaped for an explicit purpose. When he thinks of the family he has here now, the difference is a gaping chasm he couldn’t hope to jump across. 

No one had ever cared for him like this in his previous life, besides Genji and even Genji, back then, had held himself at arm’s length because Hanzo had done the same-- afraid of the judgement, scared of the attachment, and wary of the punishment. People here, now, _really_ show him they care about him in a million different ways. 

There are small things… like his brother urging him to meditate with him and Zenyatta, bugging him to cook old meals that he says he misses. Like Hana whining at him until he relents and lets her plait his hair while Lucio paints his fingernails and toenails. Like Lena, Ana, and Satya sitting down with him for tea because they’re the only other people on base who treat it properly. 

There are bigger things, like Mercy tearing through a hail of bullets to heal him despite insisting it can wait. Like Zarya seeing he’s in trouble and launching a shield around him before he can be hurt. Like Reinhardt and Jack talking him through something he didn’t even know he needed to work through. 

Then there’s Jesse, who has pronounced his love for him without fear and without regret, and who makes it a reality every day. 

Hanzo wasn’t built for this. He was shaped into a sharp-edged thing to everyone’s soft-lined roundness, and being loved is going to kill him. 

“Get outta that pretty head,” Jesse says, drawing him from kneeling on a tatami-lined dojo back into his dim, sparse room. 

Sniffling, Hanzo grimaces at the snot finally pouring from his nose. 

“Yeah,” Jesse says with a laugh, “I’ll bring a roll out for ya.” 

Hanzo watches his long-legged stride to his bathroom, rummaging around in there for a roll of tissue. 

He doesn’t understand how Jesse is still so gentle, after everything he’s been through. His upbringing was not without strife-- there were some people who cared for him and some who had used him like they’d used Hanzo. He’s been hurt in all ways someone can _be_ hurt. Still, Jesse wears his heart like armor, opens the doors and invites people in. He’s careful. Who wouldn’t be? But he’s also willing to suspend his doubt in favor of hoping, which is the most courageous thing (if incredibly foolish) and something Hanzo struggles with even now. 

“Here ya are-- one roll of premium tissue for my man,” Jesse jokes, brandishing the toilet paper like he’s showing off an expensive bottle of wine. 

It makes Hanzo huff, but he accepts it gracefully, groaning as he sits up. He still feels awful, his body aching unpleasantly and his head throbbing harder for having cried. 

“Think you’ll make it without me while I visit Angela for some medicine? Wanna get that fever down before it gets worse.” 

“I’m sure I’ll manage,” Hanzo answers, tone flat as he rolls his eyes. Jesse just smiles and kisses his forehead. 

“I hear ya, pumpkin. Be back,” he announces and leaves the room. 

It feels colder already. 

Hanzo sighs at his own sappy thoughts. 

The _serape_ still has Jesse’s scent on it (spicy and earthy) and Hanzo has never been so grateful for his ability to keep all his senses while sick. Genji had always been the opposite, complaining about being unable to taste every time he caught a cold. It had grated on Hanzo’s nerves back then, when he had still been bitter about the freedom afforded to Genji. 

In his mind, he was envious though he never would’ve admitted it. Of course, Genji was expected to maintain appearances, but he never followed that strict expectation and was never punished for it (until Father was gone, that is-- by his hand, no less). So when Genji was sick, he lazed about and whined.

What Hanzo would not give to go back--

“Enough,” he says to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. This is one reason why he abhors being sick. All this time he has to lay about is giving him too much space to ruminate. 

He reaches for his phone for a distraction. Winston should know about his illness, so he isn’t scheduled for any missions for the time being. Hopefully, Angela’s medicine will kick whatever this is quickly. Too much time to do nothing has never suited Hanzo. Keeping busy keeps him sane. 

By the time he’s pressing send on his drafted correspondence to their fearless leader, Jesse is back in his room-- this time, toeing his boots off by the door, stuffing his socks down one. 

“Hope you don’t mind me wearing my welcome,” he greets, carrying a bag of things from the medbay. He arranges the contents on the bedside table with care, close enough Hanzo can reach them when needed. “Ange says these need to be taken twice a day with food until you feel better-- flu is goin’ around. Without this cocktail you’d be laid up for a few weeks. You should start feelin’ better within a few days if you do what you’re told.” He eyeballs Hanzo meaningfully. 

“I have no wish to be in this bed for weeks,” Hanzo mutters, his eyelids drooping again. 

“Hey, stay awake, old man,” Jesse teases, huffing at Hanzo’s half-hearted glare. “Genji’s comin’ with food.” 

“Come sit with me,” Hanzo says, trying not to make it sound like the plea that it is. Jesse smiles crookedly. 

“Haven’t taken a shower yet. Sure you want me close by?” 

Hanzo flips the covers open, pats the bed invitingly. 

He ambles onto the mattress in response, the side of his body a hot brand all along Hanzo’s as he settles down beside him. It inspires Hanzo to pull in a deep breath, sinking into the feeling of comfort as Jesse puts an arm around his shoulder. 

“Y’really did miss me, huh?” Jesse asks, burying his nose at the crown of Hanzo’s head, kissing him there. He always sounds like he’s joking around. 

“I did,” Hanzo answers, closing his eyes as he pillows his head against Jesse’s shoulder, slipping his arm around Jesse’s back as he leans against the headboard. “This flu has obviously made me delirious.” 

“Delirious my ass. Even if you weren’t sick, you’d’ve missed me. Admit it, Shimada.” 

In an uncharacteristic display of vulnerability, Hanzo doesn’t take the joke any further. 

“As I do whenever you are not near,” he admits, valuing the way Jesse’s breathing has Hanzo’s head rising and falling in a rhythm. Jesse goes quiet, rubbing at Hanzo’s arm gently, pressing a kiss to his crown again. 

He doesn’t need to say anything. Hanzo understands. 

They stay like that for long enough that Hanzo dozes off to the feeling of Jesse’s fingertips stroking his tricep. He only wakes when the door opens and Genji enters the room with a tray in his hands. 

Armor totally foregone, Genji looks soft and casual in a hoodie and sweats. Nothing is covering his face, so Hanzo can see the smile there. 

“Never did I think I would see the day,” he starts and Jesse laughs when Hanzo groans. “You are getting old, Brother.” 

“Just wait until you catch up,” he croaks, turning his head to cough into his elbow when it catches his dry throat wrong. Jesse rubs at his back. 

“You need healing! I have come bearing gifts,” Genji says cheerfully, settling the tray on Hanzo’s lap before he crawls on the edge of the bed and sits, cross-legged, by their feet. 

The tray is laden with a bowl of familiar looking soup, a steaming cup of what smells like ginger tea, and some _senbei._

“ _Thank you,_ ” he says in Japanese, glancing at Genji when he does. Genji’s grin widens. 

“I am not much of a cook, but I used to bug Chiyo-san to make this for me when I was sick. She said she couldn’t be bothered, but always had one of the servants bring it to me anyway.” 

That brings him back. He has barely thought about ornery old Chiyo-san in the years after leaving. It’s hard to remember her face. All he can see is the uniform the chefs wore at the compound. 

Hanzo hums, dragging himself away from those thoughts. “Spoiled.” 

Genji laughs, sending a tendril of warmth through Hanzo’s chest. 

“Very! But now it is your turn to be spoiled. You should have gotten sick a lot sooner!” 

“Hey,” Jesse interjects, sounding put out, “I try to spoil him all the time, he’s just too stubborn to let me do it.”

“Except for when it’s cake,” Genji points out, much to Hanzo’s displeasure. 

“Except for when it’s cake!” Jesse agrees, only adding to his ire. 

Hanzo doesn’t deign them with a response, simply picks up the _renge_ spoon and starts in on the bowl of _Zōsui._

“It’s good,” he says after a moment. Just bland enough to stomach but sturdy enough he might be able to take whatever medicine Angela has given him without puking it back up later. That’s the last thing he wants to do, especially in front of Jesse. Not that he thinks Jesse will blame him, but he’s already embarrassed himself enough today as it is. He truly _is_ getting old. 

“Are you not worried about getting sick, Jesse?” Genji asks, as Hanzo takes a bite of his crackers. 

“Got my flu shot earlier,” he says, smirking a coyote grin. Handsome as always. “So I get to love up on Hanzo all I want.” 

“Think upon your actions,” Genji says seriously. “I do not need that imagery.” 

“I am trying to get over a fever, not overheat,” Hanzo warns, just as Jesse goes to open his mouth again, fighting the blush from his cheeks. 

“Sorry, darlin’,” Jesse says, though he does not sound sorry at all. 

“I am glad Angela was able to give you medicine. I know how you hate to sit still for too long. You will only be sick for a few days,” Genji comments, eyes following Hanzo’s movements as he sips at his tea. He was right. It is ginger. 

“Then I _really_ get to love up on--” 

“ _Urusai,_ ” Hanzo interrupts, coughing heavily at the outburst, though Genji is already laughing loudly. 

“Glad you keep my brother on his toes,” he says, eyes warm with affection. He quiets down, looking at the door. “I told Zenyatta I would not be long. We are trying to perfect a combat combo.” 

He winks at Jesse. “I will leave you two alone.” Jesse wiggles his brows at Genji. 

Hanzo resolutely ignores them both. 

“Get well, Brother,” Genji says, leaning forward to touch his hand to Hanzo’s knee. It’s fleeting but still makes Hanzo feel like his body is a size too small, unbelievably grateful, for the millionth time, for this second chance he’s been given. 

Genji takes his leave after Hanzo thanks him again for the meal, taking Hanzo’s tray along with him when Hanzo insists he can eat no more.

Jesse forces his medicine on him and before long, Hanzo is becoming drowsy once more. Maneuvering himself back into a vertical position, he sighs, feeling full and warm and spacey-headed. Jesse spoons himself up behind him, fitting neatly against him, knees tucked up under Hanzo’s knees, heavy arm around his chest. 

“It is early for you to sleep,” Hanzo comments, even as he leans back into the full warmth provided to him. 

“Mission was long and I didn’t sleep much,” Jesse answers, burying his nose at the juncture between Hanzo’s neck and shoulder, pressing his lips against his skin. The whiskers of his beard tickle Hanzo as he drags his face up the back of his neck, mouth open and searching for the best spot to lay a kiss. 

Hanzo would love to respond but the medicine is making it hard for him to think clearly, his eyes almost crossing with how tired he’s gotten in the last five minutes. He wants to tell Jesse to rest, or maybe something else. 

“Love you,” he manages to slur out instead, feeling Jesse’s hand splay out on his stomach. 

“God,” Jesse responds shakily. 

In the morning, he will still be sick. Jesse will tell him to sleep when he untangles himself for a shower. Hanzo will doze peacefully until he’s forced to eat rice pudding and take his medicine. 

Most importantly, he will feel loved and cared for the entire duration of his illness. When he surfaces from the last vestiges of flu, he will have healed in more ways than one. 


End file.
